


Betrothed

by Vermilion_Sunrise



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Courtship, Eventual Romance, F/M, Sandor as Lord of the West, betrothal, betrothed from birth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-01 05:41:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15767748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vermilion_Sunrise/pseuds/Vermilion_Sunrise
Summary: Westerosi AU / SanSan:  As a boy of twelve Sandor Clegane makes his first kill, saving Lord Stark's life during Robert's Rebellion. In order to thank the boy Ned promises to wed him to his first born daughter. A short story about courtship and love, the aim is to leave us with a happy feeling and a wedding!This is probably not a story for everybody so heed the warnings ;-)





	1. Prologue:  A First Kill to Remember

**Author's Note:**

> I should be working on other half finished stories, but this popped into my head and I just had to write it. It's already completed, so I'll be spacing out the updates. My inspiration came from reading too many books on medieval betrothal and figuring it might be an interesting basis to build a mythology around Sandor's first kill.
> 
> Please note:
> 
> Sansa and Sandor are 15 years apart in this story -- which should be pretty spot on with the books.  
> At their first meeting she is 6 and he is 21, when they marry she is nearing 17 and he is 32. So for our world she is underaged, for the GOT world not at all. Hence the warnings.
> 
> For me this story is kind of a mix between kids getting promised to people they don't know, and Sandor getting an opportunity to show himself as more than a beast -- but a man of honor and one capable of love despite what others might think. Let's see how this one goes.

#  Prologue: A First Kill to Remember

 

Though the battle had finished hours ago, Sandor was still shaking with excitement from his first kill. There had been many after that this day, but the only one that replayed in his head was the sweet intoxicating feeling the first one had given him. The knight had not thought him a threat, despite the fact that Sandor was large for his age and had a sword. This man had only grinned at Sandor, turned his head from him and zeroed in on an older northern fighter instead. The Northman had already engaged two in combat, for a third man to enter would mean his death. Sandor was sure of it. The Targaryen allied fighter had been cocky though, thought his armor would protect him, and that a lad of twelve would not have the guts to kill him in cold blood. 

 

But boy had he thought wrong. 

 

As Robert’s Rebellion had reached the West, Sandor’s father had wavered on choosing sides. It was early in the war and unclear who would come out victorious. Of course as a minor lord you wanted to end up on the winning side of any war -- minor lords always felt the losses of both life and property the deepest. The Targaryens had seen this lack of commitment as treason, thus laying waste to the West -- Sandor’s home. To say his father had been grateful when Lord Stark road into his lands fighting the invaders away, would have been an understatement -- though Sandor’s father was not one given to praise or thanking. 

 

Luckily, on this day, he would not have to do either. 

 

Having squired for the Lannisters throughout his boyhood, Sandor knew well what armor protected and what it did not. He had often studied the ways in which different blacksmiths made armor, drawing his own conclusions as to the advantages and disadvantages of the different styles worn. This particular knight had chosen poorly for a defense from behind. His shining armor though tough and reinforced in the front, was tied together with thin leather straps in the rear. To say Sandor hadn’t killed this man in anger, would have been a lie. Perhaps that had been why it felt so good, to let all of those years of frustration, malice and hate rip through a man in a single blow. Perhaps it felt so good because the man had been a knight, a title that represented everything Sandor hated. Perhaps it had felt so good because Sandor was a born killer, enjoying the feeling and power it gave him to take a person’s life. 

 

It was all of those things, and even at this age Sandor knew it.

 

There had been no hesitation, not one flinch in his whole body when Sandor picked up the sword of a fallen soldier and allowed the dull steel to sink into the knight’s body. He had swung upward on purpose, using the strength in his legs to increase the force of his swing, catching the armor at its weakest point and cutting the man in two. There had been shock and surprise in the knight’s eyes and first, then fear, and finally nothing. He’d watched the man die there, Sandor’s eyes taking in what the man looked like on the inside. 

 

The desire to kill had been realized inside of him that day, in that very moment.

 

Through the screaming and the fog of battle a simple word brought Sandor back to reality. “Son? Are you ok?” 

 

Sandor’s eyes snapped in the direction of the man speaking to him, Lord Eddard Stark. The northern fighter whose life he had just saved, had been the high lord of the North -- the closest friend of Robert Baratheon. 

 

When it was clear Sandor had recognized him as friend and not foe, Lord Stark put his hand on Sandor’s shoulder. Even as a lad Sandor could almost look the man straight in the eye. He nodded, not knowing what to say, but knowing the sounds around them would have covered the sound of juvenile his voice.

 

“You’re Clegane’s boy aren’t you?” The Northern Lord said, eyeing him a moment. It wasn’t hard to pick Sandor as his father’s son. Not because they resembled one another, but because of his scaring. It was a well known story in Westeros by now and Sandor knew it.

 

Sandor nodded again, his eyes never leaving the man in front of him.

 

“You saved my life. I’ll never forget that.” Lord Stark smiled at him, affirming that what he had done had been good -- not an abomination. “Now, let’s give those Targaryen bastards hell.”

 

Sandor grinned then, though he was not given to that kind of reaction. The upturn of his burned lip still bothered him even despite the fact he had carried his disfigurement for most of his life. It was easier to scowl or be expressionless than it was to smile. He hated the way his charred skin felt when it pulled tightly that way, it reminded him of the horrors his brother had wreaked on their family.

 

In the Clegane household there hadn’t been much to smile about anyway -- so he had not missed it.

 

Not having much experience with a sword had not stopped Sandor on the battlefield, his strength and size gifted him a prowess for armed combat that few had. He had helped win the day, helped drive the Targaryen forces from his lands. It felt good, better than good. His brother had not been so lucky, he had died in the thick of it all -- leaving Sandor the sole heir of these lands once his father passed.

 

_ ‘Gods be good.’ _ Sandor thought, despising his brother above all else. The world was a better place without Gregor, no one would tell you otherwise.

 

It had surprised Sandor that Lord Stark had sought him out after the battle, walking through the maze of rubble and bodies that now littered his home. Sandor had been taken to the courtyard where the northern forces had gathered, tall men in black armor, the sign of the direwolf adorning their arms. Sandor seemed so shabby in comparison with his roughspun tunic and leather pants, no more than a peasant with a name and a sigel of some description. Despite the lowliness of his lordship Sandor stood tall and straight, his dull borrowed sword still in his hand as he had not a belt or sheith to put it in. 

 

Lord Stark smiled at him, a fatherly smile Sandor was not used to. He did not treat him like a boy or a dog to be kicked around, but like a man worthy of respect.

 

“What you did was brave boy, and if I dare say -- crazy.” He was referring to the fact that Sandor had no armor, but had run into battle anyway. Given his current station in life he would never have proper armor nor would he ever own a new set. “I’ve spoken with your father. Is it true you have no interest in a knightship?”

 

All eyes were on him, and Sandor hated it. He was an oddity in the best of times, and he hated to have more attention thrown on him than necessary. But instead of running and hiding, he took a breath gathering up what little courage was left inside of him.

 

“Aye.” He answered, not sure of what the etiquette was for such conversations, and not really giving a shit.

 

Lord Stark and his men seemed amused by his answer. “So then I will thank you in a different way. When this war ends I’ll send you my Master of Arms to train you up -- show you how to use a sword and any other implement of war you desire.”

 

It was hard to suppress the excitement Sandor had at hearing this. But Lord Stark didn’t stop there, “You saved my life and for that I should repay you in kind. Should my wife give birth to a daughter in the next years, I would wish that we join our houses in marriage. Would you do that Clegane? Would you keep the West for me, for Robert, and become my son?”

 

This was an odd thing to offer, as a matter of fact Sandor was beyond befuddled by this. Lord Stark was offering an unborn daughter to him, a person that did not yet exist to be his wife. It was ludicrous, preposterous and yet, given his looks and his temperament Sandor had wondered if he would ever be able to find a wife. Not that he wished for one now, but he remembered the warmth his mother had given him as a boy and her love for his father -- knowing deep down in his soul he yearned for that too.

 

This would be the way, perhaps the only way.

 

“Aye.” Sandor agreed, shaking the hand of the older lord in front of him. The Maester wrote something down on a piece of paper and both signed it. 

 

There was a contract now, a promise that would bind them -- then perhaps a woman.

 

In the years after this battle Sandor would push this agreement to the back of his mind, focusing on his first true love, fighting. Under the tutelage of Lord Stark’s Master of Arms he had become an accomplished swordsman by the age of fifteen, and had slowly begun to build a reputation as a fighter. He continued to put on size and muscle, dwarfing grown men though still not fully one himself. 

 

One day, rather unexpectedly, a raven came bringing news from Winterfell. A girl had been born to the Starks, Sansa was her name. The note indicated that it was the wish of Lord Stark he come visit the girl in six years time, to see if they were to get along. If they did, Sandor would marry her when she came of age their houses would be joined in marriage. Somehow Sandor had not thought that this gift had been meant in earnest, more as a ceremonial thank you for saving the man’s life -- words spoken but not to be followed through on. 

 

It seemed he was wrong.

 

Holding the note to his heart Sandor couldn’t help but think about his sister, Eleanor. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if in pain. She had been about six years old when Gregor had snuffed out her life-- raped his own sister and murdered her. Without even wanting it, without even thinking about it Sandor was suddenly overwhelmed with a protective feeling for this girl who was to be his bride. She was but a babe now and he was on his way to manhood, but he already felt a responsibility to keep her safe and away from harm. From that day forth he kept the note under his pillow so he could read her name and not forget it. It was only after he met the girl, six years later, that he threw the note away -- confident that he could fulfill this responsibility in full.

 


	2. The Man with the Funny Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa meets the Lord of the West for the first time, and tries her very best to the be the best Lady ever!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really had fun writing this chapter, mainly because six year old Sansa is so cute. Also I keep playing in my mind what Sandor could possibly be thinking and how amused he is by his future little lady wife. 
> 
> Thanks for the comments and support, it's nice to see others find this story as cute as I do. Hugs and enjoy!

#  Chapter 1: The Man with the Funny Face

 

When Sansa’s mommy told her she was going to wear a new dress because she had a visitor today, Sansa was ecstatic. Even though mommy had seemed sad, Sansa didn’t think on it for long. She had never had a visitor before, nobody ever came just to see  _ her _ \-- so naturally she was eager to receive them, especially in her new dress. It was a lavender one that fell to her ankles and had short sleeves for the warm summer air. It matched her eyes, and made Sansa feel pretty. Once she had it on, Sansa ran about the castle as fast as her six year old legs could carry her, showing everybody who would stop and look at her how pretty her dress was. When her brothers didn’t find her dress nice she stuck her tongue out at them. They didn’t know the first thing about what was pretty or not -- and she would have neither Jon nor Robb spoil her day. It was  _ her _ special day.

 

They were just jealous anyway, because she had a visitor and  _ they _ didn’t. 

 

It was after lunch when she, her brothers and her parents all came into the courtyard, her visitor was arriving and Sansa was trying her absolute hardest to remember all her manners. She should be kind, and gracious. Smiling politely was always good and she should make polite conversation -- that was important. It was a lot to take in all at once, but Sansa was determined to do it right. So she stood as tall as she possibly could, given her legs were so small, and waited for her visitor to arrive -- her heart aflutter. 

 

Her heart began to beat loudly at the sound of the horses riding into the courtyard, it seemed like quite a few -- Sansa hadn’t thought about that. But her mother was there, surely she would help her if it got too difficult to greet everybody at once. Sansa tried not to tap her foot or shake her hand nervously as they approached. 

 

There were five men on horses, the one in the middle might have been the biggest man she had ever seen. He was much bigger than father -- he was even bigger than Hoder and he was half a giant. The man in the middle was dressed differently than the rest and he had a funny face too, all crinkled and strange -- Sansa didn’t like it but she quickly remembered what her Septa had once told her, “All people are equal in the eyes of the gods. You should treat all you meet with grace and respect.”

 

_ ‘But even if they are scary?’ _ Sansa wondered as the large man got off his horse. 

 

She didn’t have much time to think about it, for he was making his way down the line to greet her family. First shaking the hand of her father, then giving a small gift to her mother -- though her mother looked very angry despite being given something. Sansa knew it because when mommy was angry her face got all red and her eyes narrowed -- then nobody could talk back to her -- not even pappa. But the giant man didn’t seem to care much, for he passed her without even looking afraid of her, nodded to Sansa’s brothers and then stopped right in front of her. Sansa craned her neck to look up at him, she had to do it so far that it almost hurt her. He was so tall it was like he reached to sky, and his sword was at least three times her size -- or at least it seemed so. The man was looking at her, no expression on his face just observing her. Sansa felt her cheeks reddening because all of the sudden all of her courtises had left her and they were just staring at one another a big silence in the air.

 

“Lord Stark.” The big man said, turning his head to her father. “I should like to take Sansa for a walk by the river. To get to know her in private.”

 

Sansa could feel the heat rise in her cheeks, even more when her mother spoke up. “How dare you suggest such a thing Lord Clegane. She’s a girl. What could a man of your age possibly want…”

 

But the big man cut her off, much to Sansa’s shock. “No harm will come to her Lady Stark. I have my sword, and I will keep her safe.”

 

There was silence and Sansa was about to cry because she didn’t know what to do. Hot tears were welling up in her eyes. They were talking about her but not to her and it was so frustrating. The funny faced man seemed to notice her distress for he then knelt down in front of her, just as she was getting visibly upset and he hunched over, so their eyes were on the same level. Nobody had ever done that before, looked at her on the same level.

 

His voice was deep, but kind. “Hello Sansa. I’m Sandor.” She stared at him a long while, not sure what to say in return, suddenly very very shy.

 

“Now you don’t have to come with me to the river if you don’t want to.” He began. He was very calm, not like mother who had been yelling shrilly. “But I did ride three whole days and nights just to come meet you.”

 

Sansa was shocked, why would he ride such a long way to see her? But she said nothing, intent on listening to her visitor with the funny face. 

 

“It would be my great honor if you would take a walk with me. You can tell me more about your lands, I’m just a foreigner here.” He held out his hand to her, it was the biggest hand Sansa had ever seen. It must have been bigger than her whole face or even her whole body. It was huge, perhaps a giant’s hand. But then she saw his head move and looked then from his hand to his face. “I promise I would never ever hurt you.”

 

Her cheeks burned deeply as she studied the man Sandor in front of her. He looked so mean but he seemed so nice --  _ and _ he was her guest after all. With this in mind she mustered up all of the courage she possibly could and put her tiny little hand in his. “Ok, let’s go.” She said.

 

The man in front of her smiled, his hand engulfing her own. He stood up then and turned to her parents. “Seems like it's settled then.”

 

Mother was furious, she could see it in her face. Father seemed satisfied but tense. “You had better have her back before dark.” Mother’s voice was shrill and perhaps even scared.

 

Sansa couldn’t possibly understand why mother would be scared of her guest, it didn’t make sense at all. But she would get to the bottom of it, no matter what. She walked beside the large man, holding his hand as she did so. His steps were long and she needed to take three steps for his one. It was hard, but Sansa did her best to keep up.  After they passed the castle gates there was a noticeable change in his body - like he was tense about something and now not anymore. 

 

_ ‘That must be a good thing.’  _ Sansa decided as they strolled in silence down the road toward the river. A lady was supposed to put her guest at ease.

 

In this moment she reminded herself that a good hostess should always make polite conversation. So she did that. “That’s an awful big sword you have. It’s probably the biggest sword I ever saw. Do you know how to use it? Or is it just for show? My brothers have swords too, but they’re just for show. They couldn’t knock an apple off a straw man’s head.”

 

Pleased with her conversation, Sansa waited for his response. They stopped walking and he knelt down next to her, looking her over with his grey eyes an amused expression on his face. He smiled when he spoke, “Well straw men are pretty tough, I’ll give’em  that.” Even though his face was scary his eyes were kind, Sansa could see that. “But my sword isn’t just for show little bird, but don’t tell your mother.” With that he poked her in the stomach and she giggled.

 

“Now,” he began, “How about you ride on my shoulders or we’ll never get to the river before sundown. I bet you’ve never been up so high, have you little bird?”

 

He was right, she had never been up that high before, and boy did she want to be. She eagerly nodded her head and he picked her up and put her on his shoulders. It was glorious to see the world from up there, everything seemed so small on the ground. Laughing in the afternoon sun Sansa would lift her arms away from Sandor’s head and feel the breeze, as if she were a bird flying. Every now and then he would shrug his shoulders up and down, jostling her a little and making her grab at his hair for support -- giggling the whole way. This funny faced man Sandor was fun and she liked him very much. 

 

When they finally made it to the river, Sansa was suddenly taken by the urge to ask him. When Sandor put her down on the ground she turned to him with a big smile. “What happened to your face?” 

 

At this he stopped a moment as if he were pondering something and knelt down on the ground next to her. His expression never turned mean or angy, it was like he was thinking about something -- so Sansa waited as patiently as she could even if she was dying to know. She had to be ladylike at all times.

 

Finally he spoke, “Well Sansa, the gods ran out of beauty by the time they made me.”

 

“Why?” She asked, puzzled by his answer.

 

“Because they used it all up on you.” He said and he chuckled softly. 

 

Sansa blushed at his words, they were very kind. He was the perfect guest. She needed to say something back that was also very nice. So she thought a moment, then spoke. “Well the gods must have used up all the muscles when they made you.” She said proudly.

 

At this Sandor laughed heartily, a large grin on his face. “That they did.” There was a short pause before he spoke again, “Now what do you do for fun at the river? Catching frogs I suspect.”

 

“What frogs? Ewwww no!” She said in disgust. 

 

“What no frogs? Perhaps we should catch one to see if we can find a prince for you?” At this Sansa laughed because she found it funny that there would be such a thing. 

 

But true to his word he went to the river bank and started to catch frogs and before long, Sansa had joined in. It was so much fun, she’d never had so much fun in all her life. Not with her brothers or her parents. Everybody was trying to tell her what to do or how to act, but the funny faced man did none of those things. She liked it and she liked him too.

 

By the time they were finished the sun was setting and her dress was a mess, but Sansa didn’t care, it had been worth it. They didn’t find a prince, but she didn’t need one. Pulling something out of his pocket Sandor sat down on the ground next to her. He was suddenly very serious and Sansa wondered if he was mad at her. 

 

“I want to give you something to keep for me Sansa. But before I give it to you, you must promise me some things...,” He stopped a moment like he was pained, then continued, “...because it might be awhile before we see each other again.” She had never gotten a gift from anyone other than her family before. Sansa shook her head eagerly and listened.

 

The tall man smiled. “First, you have to promise to keep my gift safe. Nobody should know what it is and where it is. Ok?”

 

Sansa nodded.

 

“Next, Don’t tell anybody. It’s our little secret -- yours and mine.” He whispered that part, as if there were people around who could hear.

 

That was easy, Sansa also nodded. 

 

“Finally, promise me not to kiss too many boys while I’m gone.” His eyebrow lifted as if he were serious, but Sansa knew he wouldn’t have to worry.

 

At this she wrinkled up her nose, “Eww no, never. Boys are gross.”

 

Sandor laughed at this and moved a piece of her stray red hair out of her face. “Good, keep it that way. Now here.”

 

Moving his hands he put a silver chain around her neck and at the end of this chain there was a ring. It must have been the most beautiful ring she had ever seen. It was shiny, it was pretty, had a diamond in it -- it was certainly for ladies. She hugged him and thanked him as graciously as she could. Though he didn’t share her enthusiasm, Sansa could see he was content.  The ring was so big she could fit like two fingers in it. It was the most precious thing she owned and Sansa would be sure to keep her promises. She tucked it dutifully into her dress so mother wouldn't find it.

 

Once she had calmed down and it had gotten dark Sandor stood up. “There’s one final thing left to do.” He said, looking down at her. “Can you hang on good and tight to my neck.”

 

She nodded and Sandor picked her up so she gripped his neck from behind. Then he climbed a dead tree with her hanging on to him. She giggled because it was fun and because she felt so safe with him. He was right, he would never hurt her or do anything to put her in danger. 

 

Once up on a big thick limb Sandor pulled her so she was sitting on his leg. They sat there a moment before she asked him a question. “Why do you call me little bird? I’m not a little bird, I’m a lady.”

 

She couldn’t see him smile in the darkness, but she felt it. Her back was laying on his huge chest as they looked out from the limb toward the night sky and the river itself. When he spoke, she could feel the rumble it caused in his great big chest. 

 

He sighed, then softly he spoke. “Well you are a lady, but you’re a little bird too. Do you know what to do when you find a sweet little bird?”

 

Sansa shook her head no, so he continued. He brought his arms around so she could see his hands in front of her. He put them together to make a half circle as if to hold water, “First you keep the little bird safe in a box by giving it food, nurturing it, singing to it. You give it everything it needs to grow. Then, when the little bird is old enough, and wants to, she can leave her little home and fly away.” 

 

At this he turned his hands so his thumbs crossed and his fingers made bird wings, so he made them look like a bird flying away. Sansa giggled at this for she’d never seen anything so nice. “She grows strong and flys away, maybe even to my castle to live with me. What do you say little bird, would you like to be the lady of my castle someday? When you are old enough?”

 

The question confused Sansa. All of her things were at Winterfell, how could she possibly leave it? All her toys and the foods she liked to eat, even if Sandor was fun she didn’t know if she could be the lady of a whole entire castle. But, remembering her manners, Sansa found a way to answer him. 

 

“Maybe tomorrow.” She said triumphantly.

 

He chuckled at her answer, “Sure little bird, tell me tomorrow.”

 

They sat in silence some time before he said something again. “Do you know about the stars?” 

 

“No.” Sansa said lazily as she melted into his chest. Even as he began to talk about the stars she found herself drifting off to sleep, slowly and surely for she had had a long and exciting day.

 

When Sansa woke, it was to the sound of her mother’s disapproving voice. 

 

“Do you know how late it is? Look at the state of her dress!! What could you have possibly been doing with a little girl all this time? If you’ve touched her…”

 

At this Sansa could feel Sandor’s body tense underneath her as her face lay in the crook of his neck, his forearm holding her under her bum. She was awake now but better to play asleep rather than risk getting brought into the fight between mommy and Sandor. 

 

“Easy Lady Stark. She’s content and asleep.” He paused a moment, “I know men from the Riverlands who do those kinds of things to little girls, and I’ve slit their throats for it. Makes me proud to be a Westerman.” With that her mother was silent, which was a surprise. Nobody ever stood up to mommy and got away with it, but it seemed like Sandor did. That was because he was brave. She didn’t know what his words meant, or what the argument was about, but he was brave for sure.

 

Sandor handed her over to her handmaid, who held her in much the same way he had -- her face in the crook of her neck. Sansa could hear her father’s footsteps approaching, they were distinct on the rock floor. 

 

“Lord Stark. I’ll come for her when the time is right.” Sansa heard him say, but by now she was too sleepy to understand what was going on. She was groggy and wanted her bed. The conversation went on but she heard none of it. 

 

Finally, as her handmaiden turned, Sansa caught a final glimpse of Sandor. Their eyes met and he winked, then turned back to her mother to argue with her further.  Lazily she waved as she was brought back into the castle for her long awaited and well deserved sleep. When she woke in the morning, the funny faced man was gone and she felt sad and empty because she never had the chance to say goodbye.


	3. Betrothed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After ten years apart, Sandor returns to reclaim his bride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The comments and discussion from the last chapter were very insightful, so thanks for voicing them. I've added now this chapter -- are more age appropriate courtship chapter. The final chapter is the wedding / bedding ;-) Would you expect less from me? Cheers!

#  Chapter 2: Betrothed

 

The sun was warm despite the chill in the air from the early autumn morning. Sansa sat on her small balcony overlooking the walls of Winterfell and the forest beyond doing her needle point. Of course it would have been more proper for her to wear a light cloak over her camisole in this temperature, but she couldn’t resist the urge to feel the heat of the sun on her skin. While the Starks were a winter people, Sansa secretly prayed for a slightly longer summer -- it was the Riverlander in her for sure. 

 

She was working on a tunic for Robb, embroidering the insignia of House Stark about where his heart would be. He would wear it on her seventeenth nameday, so of course it had to be perfect. Needle point was something she was good at, she had been since she was a child and it relaxed her to do it. From the soft tweeting of the birds, to the sounds of people moving below the morning had started well for Sansa. Until she pricked her finger, hurriedly bringing it to her lips. As she sucked the blood away she looked down at the tunic, now stained with a bit of brown --  she’d have to wash it out quickly otherwise it would stain the perfect white of the soft cotton. 

 

Before she could even get up to attend to the mess she had created, the door to her room opened and her parents walked in. It struck Sansa as strange that her parents would barge into her room at the same time -- usually it was just her mother, her father was often busy with other things. She was suddenly seized by the feeling that something was wrong. Her mother’s face was sad and it made Sansa wonder if Bran had fallen from one of his climbing adventures around the castle. Immediately putting her work down she made to go over to her parents, but her father held out a hand to motion she stop.

 

“Please sit down Sansa.” He said softly. It was so odd she didn’t even question him, she just sat down in the chair on her little balcony where she had been before. 

 

“Is there something wrong father?” She asked finally, unsure what was happening. Usually her parents were very aligned, but now her mother was tense -- upset even. Her father in contrast was making an attempt to be gentle with her, as if he were about to give her a sour medicine with a spoonful of sugar.

 

“No child.” Lord Stark said. “We just need to talk to you a moment.”

 

At this Sansa sat back in her chair, slightly dumbstruck as to what to do next.

 

“You’re going to have a visitor today Sansa.” Her father started and she was instantly filled by a strange feeling of dejavu. She swallowed slightly and sat still with her hands in her lap.

 

“Do you remember when Lord Clegane came to visit you?” Her father asked, a slight tension in his voice. 

 

The name Clegane had not been spoken openly in her house since the day he had come to visit her, over ten years ago. Of course she remembered him, how could she not? He had been so large and scary and yet he had showed her great kindness -- treated her like a lady even at a young age -- given her a level of respect her family had not. As a young girl Sansa had often asked her mother about the man who had come that day, but she had always brushed off these questions -- changing the subject or not answering all together. As Sansa grew into womanhood, her parents would discuss the betrothal of their children and possible matches for her brothers and sister, but never for her. When she would ask about her own future, and which lords might be suited to her, she was often met with silence or a stern look from her mother. It had filled Sansa with a fear that perhaps she was somehow malformed, and that her parents would send her off to a cloister to become a Septa when she was of age. Realizing she was not getting anywhere with this line of questioning she had stopped inquiring all together, but that did not mean that had forgotten about Sandor or the impression he had left on her.

 

Several years after their first meeting, when Sansa was about ten or so, Robb and Jon had joined her father at a tournament in the South. When the boys came back all they could talk about was Lord Clegane, the Hound as he was sometimes referred to. That he was the biggest man they had ever seen, the fiercest warrior in the land. They had described the tourney and told her that grown men pissed their pants when paired with the Lord of the West in combat. Sansa had, of course, always listened intently to her brother’s stories trying hard not to show too much interest, but doing her best to feed the wild curiosity inside of her all the same. When she had asked her parents if she could also accompany her brothers to tournaments her mother had immediately said no. She had said that tournaments were no place for ladies, though Sansa knew better. It was difficult to argue with mother, so she avoided it as best she could -- settling for stories of the man she had met as a young girl. They were secondhand stories told through the eyes of her brothers, who romanticised violence and dreamed of their own glory on the battlefield. The man she remembered, though not very well, had been so very different from what they described.

 

Secretly Sansa had tried on the ring he had given her for safe keeping, though it had only recently begun to fit her hand. It had been his promise to come back to see her one day, and she wondered if he would -- though her resolve had faded over the years. It had been special to him, that much she had known even at that age and she hoped he had not forgotten about it, or her. Foolishly she had often wondered to herself if Sandor had a wife and children, hoping rather jealousy that he did not. It was silly to have this kind of affection for a person you had met once as a child, and only briefly at that. But there had been something in his eyes that had touched her deeply in her soul. Something that had branded an impression of him clearly in her mind. While he might be an accomplished fighter and now, more recently, an accomplished general -- deep down Sansa knew she had seen a different side of him than what her brothers described. It was a side that was their own little secret, something between them alone, something nobody else knew.

 

So it wasn’t completely surprising that Sansa felt a sudden flutter in her stomach at the sound of his name, her lips going dry in anticipation of what her father would say next.

 

“Yes father, I remember him.” She said with as much neutrality as possible, not sure what to make of the situation and not wanting to show too much excitement.

 

“Well, he is coming to visit you today. He will arrive in the afternoon.” Her father looked a bit uneasy, but then continued. “As he is still in a war with some of the Southern Lords he is unable to stay for long. But he is your betrothed and has come to claim you. So you will be wed on the morrow and ride with him the day after that.”

 

Sansa’s mouth was agape, she had stopped listening after the word ‘betrothed’ came out of her father’s mouth.  _ ‘Could it really have been that all these years they had been engaged and she never knew about it?’ _

 

Anger was the first thing Sansa felt, but then excitement. Her mother moved to Sansa’s side so as to comfort her. “Yes sweetling, he would  not have been my first choice either. You can still break it off with …”

 

Sansa barely heard her, she was in a daze, cutting her off almost unwittingly. “You never told me!” She exclaimed, as her blood was pumping so quickly through her veins. 

 

There was a bit of relief that swept over her at the realization that something wasn’t wrong with her and her parents had seen it fit to wed her. Ever since she was a girl she had wanted to marry and start a family -- now it was really happening. She looked over at her mother and father, they were silent, not a word passing their lips. Also somewhat surprised by her reaction.

 

“But I don’t have a dress.” She realized as her mind moved a mile a minute. She couldn’t very well wed the Lord of the West in any of the gowns she had. It would not be correct, not at all.

 

Now it was her mother’s turn to be shocked, the look on her face priceless. Sansa’s father seemed relieved that they would not argue about this.

 

“Catelyn, show Sansa the dress you’ve been making please.” Lord Stark said, as if to shake both of his women out of their state of shock.

 

The next hours were a blur for Sansa, but it somehow all made sense now. It had always struck her as strange that a grown man had come to visit her that day, that he had incited such anger in her mother for seemingly no reason. The ring as well, he’d trusted her deeply to give it to her as a child -- and it had made a big impression on her. Perhaps he had done it on purpose - so she wouldn’t forget  _ him.  _ Even now his features blurred in her mind. He had been scared, monstrous if she remembered correctly. But his eyes had been the only thing she truly remembered from him -- grey, kind and tender despite the rest of him. 

 

_ ‘We’ve been betrothed since my birth.’ _ She realized without knowing why it was so. 

 

Betrothing children from birth was an old custom in Westeros -- almost outdated, but her parents must have had a reason for it. But now was not the time to ask. Sandor would be there soon. 

 

Sansa smoothed her forest green dress over her hips and looked at herself in the mirror one last time. She had made sure to brush her auburn locks until they shined like the rays of the morning sun. This was one of her greatest assets and Sansa knew it. Her breasts were still so small though, her hips giving her body a small curve. She was not like the milk maids or the kitchen women she saw her father’s men oogling. There was something still so juvenile about her body, though she was nearly seventeen and had grown much since her flowering. There was a pang of fear that hit her in the chest, ‘ _ Will he find me attractive?’  _

 

Sansa was taller than most women, which would be of an advantage with Lord Clegane. Softly Sansa wondered if he was as big as she remembered him, or as muscular. She giggled at this -- remembering suddenly her  innocent remark about his muscles said by a child must have amused him greatly. 

 

There was little time now to remember what they had talked about years before, the bell in the Winterfell courtyard rang -- signalling his approach. Quickly she snatched the necklace with the ring and slipped it on, tucking it in her bodice. Steading her nerves Sansa picked up her dress, so as not to stumble on the hem, and made her way quickly into the center of Winterfell castle. She felt light as a feather, and nervous.  _ ‘What if he’s in love with another?’ _

 

Her cheeks burned hot confusion as she stood at the end of the line her family had created. In another moment of dejavu Sansa watched the Westermen ride into the courtyard in a group of five. Sandor was in the middle of them, in a grey tunic with the insignia of his house, brown leather pants and his sword. He was difficult to miss, for he was indeed as large as she remembered -- perhaps more as he had grown into manhood fully over the last ten years. There was no doubt in her mind that when the gods made him they used up all their muscles, his athleticism was unapologetic underneath his clothing. The pit of Sansa’s stomach burned at the thought of what he would look like without the burden of his garments -- but she shook it from her mind.

 

Robb and Jon were almost giddy as he got off of his horse, as if they were about to shake the hand of Ser Duncan the Tall or Aegon the Conqueror. Both were elbowing one another to be the first to talk to Sandor, to stand across from one of the most revered warriors of the land. Suppressing a grin, Sansa couldn’t help but feel contented with the fact that he had come here for her -- not her brothers. 

 

As before, Lord Clegane shook hands with her father and gave her mother a small gift. She took it as before with a bit of a scowl on her face and narrowed eyes -- mother did not like him at all. Sansa understood now why, had a better sympathy for what her mother must have endured all of these years knowing she would be married off to a man with Sandor’s reputation. He was not a high lord like her father, but she knew from the talk of her brothers that he was expanding his lands and amassing wealth. His family name was not as good as Sansa’s but that mattered little to her. She could not shake the impression she had of him from her childhood, a man that was warm and friendly -- fun loving even. She had met many lords since then, all of them had been stuffy and upright. Their respect for her had only gone as far as polite courtesy, none of them interested in getting to know her. It had always left a foul taste in Sansa’s mouth. However, as she watched Sandor walk down the line, Sansa’s stomach churned in confusion for he was much more stoic and detached than she remembered -- well to be honest she couldn’t remember much from when he came to see her. His demeanor or what he said when he had knelt down to speak with her -- only that his gentleness had overroad her fear of him.

 

_ ‘And what if he’s changed?’ _ She asked herself, thinking back on what her mother had told her earlier this morning. 

 

Sandor shook the hands of her brothers and patted her sister on the head. Arya was too busy assessing his size in awe to be offended or care about his greeting. Sansa could feel her stomach knot tighter as his footfalls came closer to her. When he did finally stand before her, she did not hesitate to look him in the eye -- not having to crane her neck nearly as much as last time. She was nearly six feet tall, though he stood a good half foot taller than her, she was proud of the fact that she could almost look at him eye level. 

 

Something flickered on his face a moment when he looked her over, an amusement that hinted at the man she felt she knew well. There was a  playfulness in his eyes that reminded her of their first encounter years before. Sansa blushed deeply under his gaze, not sure what to do nor wanting to disturb the moment.

 

“Lord Stark, I should like to take Sansa for a walk by the river. After all of these years I should be allowed some time alone with my betrothed.” Sandor’s voice was raspier than she remembered, but about as deep. Above all he was calm and in control, a man seasoned in life. 

 

“It’s not appropriate to take a young maid alone without an escort.” Lady Stark piped up, again a feeling of dejavu sweeping over Sansa. 

 

“I have my sword, I’ll keep her safe Lady Stark.” Sandor answered.

 

It was almost exactly like last time, only Sansa understood better now what was going on.  Her mother was doing her duty, concerned for the well-being and honor of her daughter. Sandor, knowing well what her mother was hinting at, would pretend that the danger was coming from the outside. To think they would have let her out alone with him as a child had been ludacris, but then again who in this courtyard would be brave enough to argue with him? Sandor was a formidable man. His size alone was intimidating, yet Sansa couldn’t help but feel that he would follow through with his promise from before -- to keep her safe. As a child she would have never spoken against her mother, but given that they had kept this betrothal from her and that Sandor had been a man of his word to return to her, Sansa felt it time to speak her mind.

 

“We are to be married on the morrow mother, so what does it matter if we are to be alone together today?” Of course she was a bright red as she said it, Sansa hated that about her fair skin. All eyes were on her now, particularly those of the Lord of the West, a raised eyebrow and a smirk adorning his unique features.

 

“Well I guess it's settled then.” He said, offering his arm to Sansa triumphantly and turning her toward the castle gates -- before anybody had the chance to question the decision. He was very bold to do such a thing, she saw that now in a way she had not before. A nervousness began to brew in her belly, hoping she’d made the right decision to go alone with him to the river.

 

As last time, the moment they were away from her parents and the castle, his body language became more relaxed. She could feel how his massive forearm release some tension as she held it, a slightly nervous breath escaping his lips. 

 

_ ‘He hates to be observed by others.’  _ Sansa realized. His disfigurement the most likely reason for it, but she could see now how uncomfortable he had been in the courtyard compared to now.

 

They walked in silence for some moments, taking in the late afternoon sun. Finally Sansa broke their silence, “So do you know how to use that sword? Or is it just for show?”

 

At these words he stopped dead in his tracks and turned to look at her properly. There was a sheepish grin on his face as he did so, as if he were assessing her cheekiness and wondering how best to proceed.

 

“It’s just for show little bird, but don’t tell your brothers.” He said as a joke,  tentatively, no nervously, moving his hand so as to lace his fingers with her own. If she hadn’t known better Sansa would have sworn he too had a bit of a flush in his cheeks as he did so. Sandor’s hand was as warm as it was huge, his rough calloused fingers sending sparks through her body.

 

They both smiled at one another then continued their walk to the river in silence. They made it there much faster than when she was a child, not having to walk three steps to his one. 

 

“You’ve grown into a beautiful young woman Sansa. More than I deserve.” He said somewhat uncomfortably.

 

They had reached the banks of the river at sunset and the landscape was beautiful. Sansa turned to face him, taking a moment to look over him properly. He was agitated as he spoke to her, which must have made him feel very uncomfortable. Sansa was struck by the thought that perhaps didn’t speak often to women, for though he was a man he reminded her of the teenage stable hands when they spoke to her. He was doing his very best to come across calm and in control, but there was a sweetness to his confliction that made Sansa smile.

 

“Why do you say that?” She asked, truly curious as to why he was acting this way. Men like Sandor took what they wanted, whether they deserved it or not -- so his words confused her.

 

“Do you know what they say about me little bird? Or has your mother done her best to strike me completely from your life?” There was a gentle seriousness to his questions, as if he knew what she would answer -- for she remembered how he and her mother had clashed as she was a child.

 

“Well she did try to do that.” Sansa chuckled a bit at the thought of her mother going through all this trouble to keep their betrothal from her. “I can hardly blame her, though I wish she would have told me of our betrothal before this morning.” At that Sandor smiled and shook his head, as if he knew something she did not. Or at the very least had expected as much.

 

Sansa continued, “But to answer your first question. I hear that you are the fiercest warrior in all of Westeros.That grown men would rather slit their own throats than face you in single combat. That when your armies ride they leave nothing in their wake, that you are known for your brutality.” She paused a moment, her eyes locked with Sandor’s, “I hear you are dangerous, a man to be feared.” 

 

Whatever possessed Sansa to take her free hand and settle it on his chest she could not say, only that it felt right. For it was not the brutal general or the fierce warrior she was talking to -- but the human being behind it all. Sandor didn’t seem to mind, his grey eyes never leaving her blue ones. “I’m a born killer Sansa. I won’t change what I am.”

 

“All men are killers Sandor. My father is a killer, my brothers look forward to the day that they will make their first kill. So I expected no less from the feared Lord of the West.” He had a face worn from the sun and from scowling, she could see that immediately. But if you were brave enough to look deep into his grey eyes, you could detect a beautiful and well hidden tenderness within them. As if he had saved it for her and her alone. That it was a commodity so precious to him that he was timid to share it, or even to acknowledge its existence.

 

“Our betrothal was born of killing, or did your mother also spare you that story?” His fingers gently brushed some red hair out of her face and behind her ear. “I killed a man in cold blood and had the dumb luck to save your father’s life. I was not much older than your sister at the time.”

 

He waited a moment to see if she would suddenly be angry, disgusted or upset with his words. But she was not, to Sansa even though he had killed, that didn’t mean he wasn’t worthy of love. 

 

Sandor seemed to have misinterpreted her silence for he continued hastily. “Are you afraid of me too Sansa?” There was a tremor in his voice, as if her were scared to ask her the question but knew he must.

 

The very thought of a man like him being afraid of her rejection was surprising to Sansa, as well as humbling. These feelings stole her words, so she merely shook her head no -- her eyes never leaving his.

 

Smiling he wrapped his arms around her and put his lips on hers. It was horribly inappropriate for them to kiss before the wedding, but it mattered little to Sansa at this point. She was flush against his hard body, both hands on his chest and her tongue playing with his in her own mouth. His mouth was warm and tender, his lips softer than she would have expected and his beard tickled her face. She enjoyed his affections, pressing her lips further into his matching his passion.

 

When they pulled away from one another Sandor eyed her suspiciously, “I think you may have kissed some boys even though you promised me not to.”

 

He was teasing her, she could see it in his eyes, but she blushed all the same. “Well maybe one or two.” She admitted and he laughed.

 

When the moment had passed, and they were both looking out over the river, Sansa asked a question that had been nagging her since the morning. “All these years and you never once wrote me or visited. How come?”

 

At this Sandor ran his fingers through his hair and took a pace or two toward the river, as if he had long anticipated such a question and still didn’t know how to properly answer it. Finally he spoke, “Your mother forbade any contact with you. My punishment for bringing you home after dark.”

 

She nodded. Sandor crossed his arms and continued, as if suddenly the floodgates had opened. “I was young then and didn’t want to listen to anybody, not a soul, not even her. So I guess I got what I deserved.” He sighed as if this had been a difficult burden for him. “Maybe it was better that way, you knowing nothing of me until now.”

 

He took a moment and considered something before continuing, “I’m not a good man Sansa, I never was. Certainly I’ve destroyed more things than I’ve built--  you and I couldn’t be more different. But what I didn’t realize the day I saved your father’s life was that two lives would be saved that day -- his and mine.”

 

Sandor shifted uncomfortably for a moment then found the words he needed to continue, “When we first met, I was on a bad road -- one most men don’t come back from. I was becoming something I had always feared I would become…” 

 

He stopped mid sentence as if trying to word the next part correctly. “I was so angry when I had to see you on your father’s request. I had to look at a six year old girl and see whether she would make a good wife for me…” Sandor collected his thoughts a moment, “...there are times I will never understand this highborn ballix.”

 

Sansa could see the memories of these times brought Sandor pain, but she remained silent. It was as if he were confessing his sins to her and to stop him would be not let him get everything off of his chest -- to not allow him this release.

 

“When I looked down at you that day, and you looked up at me with this determined little expression on your face and all the bravery you could muster...you reminded me of somebody I missed very much. You reminded me of a time in my life that I thought murdered along with my sister.”

 

He took her hands in his suddenly, and looked her straight in the eye. “We spent some time together and I realized that if such an innocent girl like you could look at me without fear and could see the good in my ugly soul-- then maybe I was worth redeeming.” 

 

He breathed deeply. “I’ve done many cruel things in this life, things I can never take back.  _ You  _ changed me for the better that day Sansa, reminded me that I wasn’t the monster everybody wanted me to be.”

 

She could feel the emotions running through him, his hands the conductors between their bodies. It was overwhelming what he was telling her, she had no sense of these kinds of emotions or the struggles he must have faced over the years -- but she could see he meant this in ernst. That he was letting it all out to her, sharing this burden for the first time of his life.

 

“That night, after you went to bed, I swore on my knee to your father that I would build a home for you. That I would clean up the West and give you a home.” His eyes looked firmly into hers, as he got to the most difficult part of his confession.

 

“I would begrudge you nothing if you tell me today you are not interested in giving me your hand. It must have been quite a surprise if your parents have told you nothing until...gods I don’t know how you could love me and I don’t expect that you should try.” His words were pure emotion, flowing from his heart, though he tried he could not stop it. The need to release the feelings he had bottled up rushing from his mouth. True she had not known they were to be wed, but she had always known deep in her soul that she loved him -- at the very least cared for him. She had been stupid not to see their first meeting for what it was, silly to not see the obvious as she grew up.

 

Sansa pursed her lips together and raised an eyebrow, as if what he said was just preposterous. “First of all it is my duty to honor my father’s promise.” She could see he didn’t appreciate that very much as his facial expression changed briefly before she finished her thought. “But I’m not afraid of you, even though you are telling me these things. You are no monster to me.” She touched the burned side of his face as if to prove it to him -- that she could touch him without fear.

 

Sandor smiled broadly and it suited him. Sansa barely noticed his face when he was happy. She was beautiful enough for both of them anyway and he was strong enough for both of them, so it evened out. His fingers crept toward her neck, fishing out the silver chain he had clearly noticed that was hanging around her neck. At the sight of the ring safe around her neck he became emotional, a bit of wetness reflecting in his eyes. He quickly covered it though, moving the necklace from around her neck and ripping the chain from the ring. 

 

Sandor got on one knee, even then his head still came up to her chest -- he was quite tall. “Then I should do this properly.” He said. “This ring was my mother’s and it was, until today, the most precious thing to me.”

 

Sansa could feel the tears well in her eyes, it was a rarity in this land that a lady be asked to marry. There was often no discussion, as had been the case with her own parents. She could feel her knees weaken.

 

“Sansa Stark, would you make me the most happy -- and most envied -- man in Westeros, and become my wife?” He was much more confident now as he looked up at her, his sword resting along the ground. 

 

Kneeling down so they would be on the same level she put her hand to his face and whispered, “Yes.”

 

His mother’s ring fit perfectly, as Sansa knew it would. He kissed her again but a much more chaste kiss than the one before. There was no other way to describe this moment than funny. It was as if Sandor had not thought further than this -- as if he had thought it would be the hardest point to get to and take them till the sunset. But it hadn’t and he seemed rather proud of himself -- though he wanted to fill the time. Then his eyes lit up, as the sun slowly set over the horizon.

 

“Come, let’s watch the stars as they come out.” He offered, looking up at the tree they had once scaled together.

 

She laughed, “I can’t climb in this.” Sansa motioned to her dress.

 

“Come now little bird, you can just wrap your legs around me and I’ll climb for us.” There was a sheepish grin on his face as they looked at one another. She put her hands on her hips.

 

It was a scandalous thing to suggest and he knew it. “That’s very improper you know.” She said, a twinkle in her eye.

 

“You’ll have your legs wrapped around me in much more improper ways soon enough.” He said in a low voice that promised he would follow through.

 

Sansa blushed from her head to her toes at his words, and he seemed to enjoy it. “Besides,” Sandor continued pressing his advantage, “We are to be wed on the morrow, what does it matter?”

 

She smirked as he used his own words against her. Sansa hesitated a moment, as she’d never done such an inappropriate thing before with a man, but she shook it off. Had he wanted to push the situation further, he would have done so by now -- and he had been nothing but surprisingly open and honest with her. Hiking up her dress she climbed on to his back, squeezing his muscled body between her legs -- as if she were riding a horse. He was nearly as wide as one, or so it felt. 

 

_ ‘Gods he feels amazing.’ _ Sansa could not say she had ever felt lust or compelling sexual impulses -- but the feeling deep in her belly as she clung to him made her understand how base these impulses were. In the wild only the strongest males passed on their seed, and with Sandor the raw urge to have his seed was seeping into her consciousness. His muscles flexed and extended under her body, he was strong and sure -- a viril male that would inspire  desire in any woman.

 

A little lost in her thoughts, Sansa was quickly jostled out of them when his hand slipped and she instinctively clung tighter to Sandor. When he laughed loudly at her reaction she realized he’d been teasing her, he hadn’t slipped at all but done had done it so she would squeeze him tighter.

 

Sansa slapped him on the shoulder, knowing he was smiling though she could not see his face. “You...you are such a brute Sandor.”

 

“Aye.” He answered as he made the final ascent to a very large branch atop this dead tree. 

 

The branch was wide enough for him to sit completely on it, resting his back against the trunk of the tree. Unlike the time before he didn’t sit Sansa on his knee but rather pulled her to settle between his legs -- also very inappropriate -- but with every minute that went by they were getting closer to their marriage. She was happy and safe in his big arms. Sansa layed back on his chest, resting her head under his chin and watching the darkness take the sky. In a more bold fashion than before, Sandor put his hand on leg, under the pretenses of making sure she was securely positioned on him for her own safety. But Sansa knew better and she didn’t mind one bit. 

 

“There’s the North Star.” She pointed out, keen to show him that she had not forgotten their encounter from last time. “There is the constellation of the twins.”

 

He grunted his approval then pointed off into the distance. “That one there is called the Cauldron. You can follow that to my lands.”

 

The wind picked up a little bit and goosebumps started to form on her skin. Sandor rubbed her arms in the chill of the night air, and squeezed her more tightly to him. “Do you see that one?” he pointed more off to the left  so Sansa had to sit up and turn her neck more to look for the constellation.

 

“I see nothing.” She said, staring off into the darkness in the direction he pointed. Sansa craned her neck further, only to feel his warm breath on her exposed neck, a warm series of kisses planted there.

 

She laughed though she was trying to act scandalized, “You trickster!” She slapped him on the chest and ended up hurting her hand more than his chest. 

 

His laugh was more a purr, rumbling through his barreled chest and through her. “Are you ready to fly away with me little bird? I can’t take you home yet, but the war will end shortly. The southern lords will soon see things my way -- then we can go home. I promise.”

 

Sansa nodded as she turned herself to better see his face in the pale moonlight. She swung her legs over so she had them over one of his huge thighs. They looked at one another for a long while. He had such an intensity to his stare, it made her feel naked. Sansa flushed furiously as if he’d ignited a fire with his slate eyes in her.

 

“We should be getting back. I don’t want your mother to forbid me to speak to you for another ten years -- it will make for a bloody boring marriage.” He said with a roguish grin.

 

“She really doesn't like you, does she?” Sansa said.

 

“That she does not little bird.” Sandor smiled, made sure she was secured to him and went down the tree.

 

They walked to the castle in silence, but it was a contented silence. Butterflies began to flutter in her stomach as she thought about the next day. She would become his wife, marry the man her father had promised her to. It was both overwhelming and all she had hoped for her whole life.

 

Of course Sansa’s mother was waiting for them, her hands on her hips. “Do you know what time it is?”

 

“My apologies Lady Stark.” Sandor said with a contented grin, though Sansa wondered if it was the shocked look on her mother’s face at his apology that gave Sandor the grin. 

 

Kissing her  hand where the ring now was for her mother to see, Sandor smiled at Sansa --  a full smile -- one she hoped he would do more often. Wishing them both goodnight he went to the part of the castle he was to stay in. Fighting the red that crept into her cheeks Sansa hurriedly made her way to her rooms -- unable to wait for tomorrow.

 


	4. A Journey as One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our betrothed couple is wedded, but the bedding still awaits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since I've updated anything....it has been a stressful couple of weeks at work. But I've survived, at least for now, and I wanted to slowly start knocking off some of these unfinished stories. I'm also working on some of my own original stuff...not that I'm that good -- but a gal has to try right? :-)
> 
> This is a nice smutty end to our little fic, it's nice to have a gentle Sandor around.

#  Chapter 3: A Journey as One

 

They were married the next day under the great weirwood tree in the God’s Wood. Sansa’s hands shook as they held Sandor’s -- his were warm and steady. As a child she had been raised to believe that her wedding day would be the happiest day of her life, a memory to treasure for the rest of her days. There was no denying her happiness, but she remembered very little other than the intense stare of Sandor’s grey eyes as they said their vows. It was a look that told of how long he too had waited for this moment, their marriage would -- in a somewhat ironic twist -- mark him a man, a proper lord. A great house was nothing without the promise of a future, and Sansa was not unaware of her role in that. 

 

_ ‘The bedding.’ _ This was the only other thing she could think of. Sansa was nervous, all maids were on their wedding night she had been told. Yet those words had not put her at ease.

 

Her happiness was thus tainted by trepidation. Her mother and her Septa had told her only vague things about the marriage bed, none of them sounded nice for her -- only for him. The way they had described men in the marriage bed was in complete conflict with everything Sansa knew about Sandor. She had been told that men were singular in their desire to service their manhood -- that was their role to use it and to impregnate their wives. The Lord of the West would be particularly rough with her, Sansa’s Septa had told her for he was known for his strength and brutality. It all sounded so scary and overwhelming, and not like the man who had been so gentle to her. Though Sansa could not imagine Sandor trying to hurt her, she also didn’t know how much this impulse for sex would change him when they were alone.

 

So despite the fact that Sansa smiled throughout the afternoon and evening events, at the feast she found herself not eating much. Too nervous about the impending night’s activities when they would finally be alone together as husband and wife. For his part Sandor was smiling, seated next to her where he had put his hand on her leg under the table. Resting it there, a warm spot in the cool of the Great Hall. 

 

“You should eat something.” He whispered in her ear with a sheepish grin. “You’ll need your strength.”

 

Nodding to him, she tried to eat more -- not tasting the delicious things prepared for them. If he had noticed her nervousness he did not show it -- though Sansa had to admit that she was doing her best to hide her fears.

 

At the very least she was happy that their wedding was small and that there was no great call for the bedding. Sansa didn’t feel like being stripped in the presence of her family and thrown into a bedroom with her equally stripped husband. Instead her mother and sister had prepared a small cabin they had on the castle grounds, so she and Sandor would have some privacy in their marital bed. Sansa wore a white cloak lined with white fur, that Sandor was sure to lace up so she wouldn’t get cold on their short journey. The temperature at night dropped dramatically this time of year and it would not do for her to catch a cold on her wedding night. Then he, quite literally, swept her off her feet, picking her up at the head table much to the clapping and joyous calling of his own men, who made up many of those in the Great Hall that evening. 

 

Sansa couldn’t help but laugh a little as she wrapped her arms around his neck for support. She didn’t need to of course, he was more than capable of carrying her to their bed. He himself wore no cloak, a fresh tunic his only protection against the evening chill. Sandor was so warm, as if his body radiated heat -- that was the first thing she noticed. As they left the festivities of their wedding, they made their way silently to the small cottage. Sansa felt the knot in her stomach tighten. She was wildly curious about men’s bodies, her own lord husband could only have one akin to the statues of the Warrior she had seen in the Sept. A man nearly nude, covered in well defined muscles -- the picture of virile masculinity. Sansa was conflicted, despite the warnings of her Septa and mother there was no denying she had a curiosity about the male form -- wondered what it would look and feel like as they would lay together with nothing separating them. Sansa blushed as a warmth filled her belly at the thought of what might happen this evening -- both consternation and carnal urges coming all at once. 

 

Sandor opened the door to the cottage, stooping so he could even fit through the door. He carried her over the threshold with a smile on his face -- a warm smile that was uniquely his. Sansa couldn't help, despite her nerves, smiling back at him. The one room cottage was perfect and she was touched with how lovingly her mother and sister had decorated it. There was a large bed with fresh furs, a roaring fire in the fireplace, some candles around the room to provide some low light in the darkness, and food and wine -- should they work up an appetite. Sansa blushed at the thought of what that might entail.

 

As if she were a fragile piece of glass, Sandor placed her gently on the bed -- her head on a pillow her body still wrapped in her fur cloak. Sitting down at her feet he left a hand on her ankle and stared at her a moment, a deep exhale coming from his mouth. 

 

_ ‘Is he as nervous as I am?’ _ She wondered. There was no way he was a virgin as she was, those things were not expected of men -- as a matter of fact sexual conquest was encouraged by families.  _ ‘Could it be his first time to do this with somebody he cares about?’ _ Sansa asked herself, hoping the answer was yes but knowing deep down it was. 

 

Without a word Sandor removed his boots, then turned and removed her shoes as well. From where he was sitting she could see only the good side of his face. She was struck by the realization that he would have been a rather cumly man had he not been disfigured -- by his brother as a child Sansa’s mother had told her. There was a ruggedness to him that was refreshing, it spoke to her own urge to break free from the wishes and expectations of her own family. She no longer belonged to her family, she belonged to him and with that -- the hope of something new and different. A freedom she had long craved, but for what she could not be sure. But with all new things, came a fear of the unknown. 

 

Staring at her a long moment in the dim light of the room, Sansa felt frozen by his gaze. There was confliction in his eyes, as if he were at a fork in the road and was not sure which route was best. She had begun to wonder if something was wrong or if she were displeasing to him when Sandor crawled on top of her and began unlacing her fur cloak. The moment the fur came away from her body, she felt how cool of the air within the small cottage was -- goosebumps formed quickly over her exposed skin. Sandor’s mouth quickly went to work warming the open skin of her neck and cleavage with the searing heat of his kisses. His lips conducting the heat of his own body with titlitating precision.

 

Sansa’s arms instinctively went to his shoulders, embracing him as he kissed her lips with a calculated intensity that made her wonder if he meant to not scare her with his passion. For while his mouth said one thing -- his body was saying something very different. The more their tongues played and the more excited their kisses became, the more Sansa felt something large and hard pressing against her inner thigh through her skirts. At first she thought it a part of his leg or possibly a weapon, but as it continued to grow and engorge itself on their own desire Sansa slowly began to realize what it was. 

 

A fear overtook her.  _ ‘It will never fit! What if we can’t go on because I am too small for him? Will he ever be able to….will he take me back to my parents?’ _

 

Clearly her concerns were obvious through her body as Sandor stopped his kissing in response to the tenseness of her form. Caught, Sansa blushed deeply and felt a quiver of her bottom lip. She didn’t want him to stop but at the same time, what if he found out too late that he could not continue -- that she was not made to contain his manhood. The thought frightened her, more because she feared his rejection, feared that this love that was slowly building for him would be shattered before it could even grow its own wings.

 

Coming up on his knees, still straddling her small frame, Sandor put his hands on this thighs and looked her over a moment. There was a clear bulge that extended up to his belt line, past that and into where his tunic covered the rest of his torso. She could tell he was trying to be very calm, as if she were a wild animal he meant to befriend not scare away. It made it all the worse for her as Sansa fought back tears of embarrassment and fear.

 

“Little bird.” He began, his deep voice low and gentle -- not a hint of anger in it. “What did your mother and your Septa tell you about tonight?”

 

It was almost more frustrating to know that he knew her issues better than she did, it made her even more upset as tears began to stream down her face. “They said...um….”

 

“Come now, out with it. There’ll be no lying either, I can smell lies.” He said with a smile on his face, encouraging her to speak openly to him.

 

_ ‘What do I have to lose at this point?’ _ She asked herself, realizing his manhood was no longer aroused as it had been and that she’d probably already ruined their wedding night. 

 

“They said it would hurt with you.” She began slowly, almost testing to see if her words would make the great warrior angry. He was so imposing in the little cottage, a scary thing to be locked up with in a small room if you did not know him. “They said that once you were inside me that I should hold on tightly because that would make the pain less as you take me…that you wouldn’t stop even if it hurt...” she was blubbering now, embarrassed to have to tell him these things and angry for destroying their moment together. 

 

Sandor ran his fingers through his long dark hair frustratedly. She could see he was taking a moment to contain his anger, she quivered a little at the thought that it could be aimed at her. She stood no chance against him, she weighed less than his sword for certain -- she was a thing he could easily break if he were so inclined. Sandor took two deep breaths, then reached across her, grabbed some of the feather pillows and propped them up on one another. He sat at the head of the bed then, his back against the pillows so he could sit upright comfortably. Taking Sansa by the hand he pulled her so she could sit up, then installed her much the way he had just been atop of her -- straddling his massive thighs with her knees placed on either side. She could look him straight in the eye now, and it had the effect of making him appear smaller -- putting her automatically at ease. He pulled her up so close to him that her bare feet were at his knees, their hips almost meeting. It was very intimate, very close and Sansa didn’t know what to do.

 

He smiled at her warmly, something she didn’t think she deserved at this point. “My little wife.” He began, “So beautiful and so well bred -- and so afraid of me.” He brushed a tear from her cheek but she couldn’t help but let more flow.

 

“What your mother and your Septa told you is wrong.” She looked at him then, their eyes meeting for the first time since he had propped her up on his lap. “I made you a promise many years ago that I would never hurt you -- and I mean to keep that promise. I’ve waited too long for you to muck it all up.”

 

Sansa’s color deepened as she felt ashamed for thinking he might hurt her or lose control while taking her maidenhead. She did trust him, but everything was so new and unknown. 

 

“But now I think we should make a few more promises to one another.” Sansa looked at him intently, waiting for him to continue. “First, no tears in our bed little bird.” He smiled and somehow it made her laugh at how silly she was being. “And second we’re supposed to have fun here together. So the moment we aren't having fun we should stop.”

 

A wave of surprise washed over Sansa at his words, ‘ _ Weren’t men supposed to not be able to stop once they started?’ _

 

Clearly he had read these thoughts in her face, for he took her bum with both hands and pulled her even closer to him so they were forehead to forehead. “It will be no easy task, but tell me to stop and I will.” He whispered.

 

Sansa sobbed a quick moment for joy and nodded her head in agreement, not trusting how her voice would sound if she spoke. It was difficult to look him in the eye, she was so embarrassed by her actions, so unsure about how to move past this little bump that it made her uncomfortable. However, there was no way to get around it. He was eyeing her, waiting for her to say something.  _ ‘Maybe he wants me to tell him my other concern?’  _

 

A small feeling of guilt overtook her as she spoke, not looking him in the face. “And if it doesn’t fit?” She asked, slowly looking at him out of her peripheral vision.

 

For a short moment he looked confused, his eyes narrowed and the burned side of his lip pulled up into an expression she had not seen before. Then when he finally understood what she meant he let out a hearty laugh. “You honor me with your words Sansa.” With this she looked at him, intent on his answer. “But you need not worry about such things -- all you need to do is relax. Ok?”

 

She stared coyly at him a while longer before finally agreeing with a very quiet, “Ok.” 

 

Pleased, Sandor drew her closer to him. They began to kiss again, their lips gently touching, her hands using his firm chest to steady herself above Sandor. As before their kissing slowly descended into something more passionate, their mouths pressing harder against one another’s -- their tongues teasing each other’s with a voracity that Sansa had never known. Without her fur cloak she could feel the warm trail his large hands left as they traveled her body, moving from her bum to her waist, over her shoulders and stopping at her breasts. Sansa tensed only a little, surprised by the size of his palms and fingers -- they were able to cup her individual breasts completely. These calloused weather worn hands, which could bring such death and pain -- gods in their own right --  could also be surprisingly gentle. They had begun firmly massaging her breasts, his thumbs dragging themselves over her hardened nipples. Even through the fabric of her dress it felt amazing, slowly replacing the knot in her stomach with a warmth she was unfamiliar with. 

 

His manhood was growing again, Sansa was surprised at the speed with which it became engorged -- relief sweeping over her that she had not ruined their wedding night. She could feel it between her legs, the thickness of its shaft pressing against her woman’s place as they continued to kiss. There was no doubt she had a lingering fear they would not fit together, but Sandor didn’t seem to worry so she tried to push it from her mind.

 

Sitting up and away from the pillows Sandor attempted to wriggle out of his tunic. Yet was unable to get it off in the confined space she and the bed had left him. Laughing, Sansa helped her husband to pull it over his head. Gazing down at him again she could not have been prepared for what she would see. The statue of the Warrior was put to shame in her eyes that night, for Sandor’s naked torso was far more masculine and defined than any sculptor could imagine. His neck was thick, with the chiseled muscles bulging from his skin as they ran over his chest and shoulders. Even in the low light she could see the peaks and valleys of arms that did not sit idol, but were used to kill, maim and conquer. There were scars across his forearms and biceps, but in the light she could not tell if they were old or new. It mattered little now, he was here, he was alive and he was  _ hers. _

 

Sandor’s chest was covered in thick, dark hair -- his stiffened nipples the only bit of skin she could see through it all. Neither her brothers nor her father had this, despite herself Sansa reached out and touched it -- running the fingers of both her hands over his upper chest. She caught his eye only briefly during her explorations -- a cheeky grin spread across his face only too happy to feed her curiosity as she acquainted herself with his body. But he wasn’t just sitting there idoly, Sandor was gently moving his hips under her, so as to rub his manhood between her legs. Otherwise he was still, calm and patient. 

 

The hair on his chest was softer than she expected, her fingers running through it with relative ease -- not getting caught in its disarray. Her eyes and her hands followed the trail of hair down Sandor’s stomach, feeling the bumps of abdominal muscles underneath. Before Sansa had realized it, her fingers ran over something smooth and rounded, looking down she gasped -- Sandor sucked in breath as well. The engorged  tip of his manhood was sticking out of the waistband of his trousers, ending right at his belly button -- nestled strong and hard in the hair of his belly. Sansa blushed deeply as another, almost feral, growl escaped his lips. It did not scare her, not now -- Sansa was amazed at the feeling it gave her -- a thrill that ran from her nipples down to her woman's place, now wet with her own desire.

 

“My turn.” He said, his voice unsteady as if he were trying to contain himself. 

 

Sandor undid the laces of her bodice with ease, though his fingers were large they were adept and coordinated. He lifted it over her head, and immediately his hands were on the thin silk that covered her breasts -- it was slipping off her shoulders so Sansa shrugged it off allowing the silk to fall -- Sandor did the rest pulling it down to her waist exposing her naked chest to his eyes. His lips parted slightly while he took her in. It was a strange feeling to be stared at in such a way, but Sansa fought the urge to cover herself knowing he was to see all of her this evening. He took her hands and put them on the headboard over him, so she was up on her knees leaning over Sandor -- looking down at him. Then eagerly he took a nipple in his mouth and began to suck on it, his left hand rubbing her free nipple.

 

So surprised at the feeling this elicited Sansa moaned loudly. She could feel his lips pull into a grin though they were busy pleasuring her breast. Instinctually she rubbed herself across his length, Sandor obliging her by grinding his hips against her too. The feeling of arousal coursing through her body was indescribable, a rush of further wetness collected at her woman’s place. Her small clothes were soaked through, her body wanted him to touch her so badly. This was nothing like what she had been told, if anything he was focusing on her pleasure -- not his own. Sansa’s heart swelled with a love for him that she already knew was there, but somehow needed further confirmation.

 

She whimpered as Sandor removed his lips from her breasts, he had been switching between them in a more rapid succession -- which had only served to heighten her adore. He was breathing as hard as she was, his eyes just as full of lust as her own. She could see he was trying to contain himself, trying to hold back his passion so as not to scare her. Sansa was thankful for this, but she wanted more, she needed more. They were looking at one another, the intensity of their gaze matched the intensity of their breathing. He reached between them with his sword hand and unabashedly began to rub her woman’s place, and Sansa was immediately taken with the desire to have him inside of her. The carnal instinctual urge to have him there was far more overwhelming than her Septa had told her. She moved her hands to Sandor’s chest and began to grip him fiercely as he ran his fingers over her small clothes -- feeling how slick her folds had become.

 

He smirked knowingly, “You’re ready for me Sansa, I can feel it. Do you want me little bird?”

 

“Yes.” She whispered, hoping he would hear it. There was no mistaken he had for he smiled broadly and kissed her.

 

She felt like a doll in his arms, for he turned her on her back with such ease. Biting his bottom lip he removed the rest of her dress and unlaced her small clothes. It was a rare sight to see a man like that with such an expression on his face. Like he had found  god, as if he had something but did not deserve it. His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly open, his gaze fixed on the red curls between her legs. Sansa let him look at her a moment, not wanting the break his trance for this was the first time he had seen her without any garment to cover her body. But at some point she had to speak up.

 

“Sandor.” She whispered, “I’m getting cold.” She laughed doing her best to snap him out of his musing. 

 

Grunting in agreement he unlaced his trousers -- pulling them off of his legs and letting them drop on the floor. His erect member jutting from his dark nest of curls was impressive, just as impressive as the rest of him she imagined. Sansa knew little of the male form, but enough to know that his was not one seen everyday. 

 

_ ‘A dangerous sort of beauty.’ _ She noted.

 

Sandor massaged his cock once or twice with his large hand, pushing some fluid to its tip. Sansa watched it form there, wondering what it all meant -- if it was evidence of his desire, surely it had to be. There was not a lot of time to ponder this, for he spat in his hand and lubricated his head in front of her, neither ashamed of nor humble with his manhood. Sandor took his place between her legs, that was when she stiffened a little. Not paying her reaction too much mind, he aligned himself with her opening, kissing her on her neck and jawline. 

 

“Shusshhh.” He urged her, pushing his penis forward -- her body straining against the size of his mushroomed tip.

 

Her nipples became more sensitive as they brushed against his chest hair, making her grip his shoulders and widen her legs instinctively to accommodate him. Sansa was grateful for his patience, it was not hard to imagine how painful it could be had he been doing this against her will. But she loved him, and he loved her -- making this moment all the more special. 

 

Inhaling deeply and doing her best to give in, Sansa could feel him pushing deeper inside of her -- her body widening against his invasion. It was a sort of sweet discomfort, an intimacy she had never shared with anybody -- and probably never would with anyone other than him. When Sandor pushed through her maidenhead she dug her nails into his back -- her eyes bugged out of her head with pain briefly and then -- then it was over. He hit something in her belly, something where he couldn’t go further -- the feeling of his balls hitting her bum told her he had bottomed out. 

 

_ ‘We do fit.’ _ She smiled to herself, pleased that he would not have to take her back.

 

Sandor raised up on a hand and looked at her, moving a stray hair out of her face. Sansa smiled and nodded, affirming that she was not in any pain. He began to roll his hips then, put a  hand on her own hips so as to show her the motion that would most please him. Always the good student, Sansa did her best to follow his instruction -- moving her hips against his -- grinding so that his thrusts would go deep inside of her.

 

“Oh gods!” She breathed as she could feel his full length moving within her -- touching places that had never been touched before, awakening feelings she could have never felt without him there.

 

“You’re mine Sansa, and I’m yours.” He said before kissing her, wrapping her up in his arms while he moved within her. 

 

Soon they were moving as one, a solid slapping sound filling the room along with her moans of pleasure. It was the summation of everything that was driving her toward a feeling she had never known. The intimacy of the room, the gentleness of his touch, the sense of being filled by the most capable and feared warrior in the land that drove her grind harder against him. He had reached between them and was rubbing a spot above her woman’s place, unleashing a feeling of bliss that had eluded her all these years. 

 

“Scream for me Sansa...oh fuck…” She could hear Sandor’s words, they were gruff and heady -- she was pleasing him and that filled her with joy. Her heart was beating out of her chest as they strained against one another -- an aggressive yet stimulating rhythm.

 

“Sandor!” She screamed his name louder than she would have wanted in his ear as she clenched around him, her sexual pleasure overtaking her to the point that nothing else in the room existed. Sansa couldn’t breath a moment, but when she did she felt only the tingling sensitivity of her body -- her shoulders relaxing on the bed her arms suddenly heavy and languid. 

 

_ ‘Do the seven heavens feel like this?’  _ She wondered to herself, understanding better now why sexual intercourse was so desired between lovers.  _ ‘If it feels like this every time…’ _ Her thoughts trailed off as she rested, her body sinking into the feather bed.

 

The roughness of his beard on her shoulder was the first thing Sansa noticed as she came out of her orgasim. Sandor was mumbling something to her, but she could not hear it completely -- it was something like  _ ‘I love … I love….’  _

 

The moment he had felt her body gain a bit of strength Sandor had continued moving within her. Changing his position so that his hands were on either side of her head, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Having had her own pleasure just moments before it was not hard to recognize his -- for he labored and thrust rapidly -- every muscle in his body tensing as he groaned and  pushed his seed into her depths. Sandor was moaning loudly, he was sweating too, she could see it forming on his forehead, saw it trickle down his temple. 

 

Sandor took some moments above her to collect himself, his hair shading his facial expression from her curious gaze. Then slowly, almost timidly he removed his half hard manhood from within her -- marveling as a trickle of his seed ran down her inner thigh. Sandor laid down next to her then, scooping Sansa up in his massive arms and pulling her to his chest. Sansa felt him kiss her atop her head as her ear lay on his barreled chest. His breathing was still labored from the intensity of their coupling. Sansa didn’t need a fur to cover her or keep her warm, with one leg thrown over Sandor’s thigh and her hand stroking his chest his body did the rest -- keeping her safe and warm on this cool night.

 

A satisfied rumble emanated from Sandor’s chest,  _ ‘The warrior finally at peace, even if just for one night.’ _ She thought, proud that he was happy with her, at least as far as she could tell.

 

“I don’t know if I could ever watch you at tournament.” She said softly, noticing the scars that littered his body. They were numerous and spoke of pain and anguish.

 

Sandor chuckled, “It would give me no greater pleasure than to win a tournament in your honor. And for that I need you to be there.”

 

Sansa crawled atop her husband so she could look at him better, slowly moving some of his hair from the burnt side of his face. There was something so gentle about him -- a quality few had ever been allowed to see. She smiled. He continued, “Everything I’ve done these last years has been for you, to give you a better life. It’s been a long awaited wedding.”

 

“You honor me by being my husband.” She said kissing him.

 

“Never in my wildest dreams did I think you would love me.” He paused as if searching for the right words, “Certainly I never thought you’d be so willing to have me in our bed. After all I have done.”

 

“My warrior husband.” She teased slightly, drawing idol circles on his chest. “You’ve fought so hard your whole life for something better, yet you failed to look within.”

 

Sandor stared at her, not a word passing his lips.

 

“It was fate that betrothed us all those years before my birth, but it is this…” Sansa pointed to his heart. “What is contained in  _ this _ that has made me so willing to be with you, to give you everything.”

 

Sandor’s hand snaked around her neck to the back of her head and pressed Sansa’s lips into his own. He was happy and she wanted to keep him so. He carried already too many hardships for one man, and Sansa promised herself that night that she would do everything in her power to do right by him. That she would honor, love and support him for the rest of their days together. What had started as a promise given upon saving her father’s life, had turned a journey of two lives together -- as one. It was a journey that Sansa looked forward to taking.


End file.
